Bellissimo Rilascio (Beautiful Release): The Family Series #3 by Leigh Ann Lunsford

Bianca.
     
    “What’s wrong, son?”
     
    “I’ve gotten involved with something, and I need to know how to get out. If I can.”
     
    There’s a brief silence as my hands continue trembling, trying to hold the receiver to my ear. I’m wondering why I called him; he’s out of the business and can’t help. “Heath, please tell me it’s not what I think it is.”
     
    “Costa family.”
     
    “Fuck.” The weight of that one word crashes down on me. The disgust, the fear. I sink into the chair, dizziness keeping me from standing upright. I physically hurt all over. Not a limb on my body isn’t shaded by humiliation.
     
    “Money laundering.”
     
    “How long?”
     
    “A few months.”
     
    “Who are you dealing with?”
     
    “Gino Rossi.”
     
    “Damn it, son.”
     
    “I know, Dad. I fucked up.”
     
    “Close up the club. Get down here, and we’ll deal with it.” He’s gone into protector mode and isn’t saying more than necessary. I don’t think I’m wired or being followed because I’m still an asset and haven’t double-crossed them. After tonight’s conversation that could change.
     
    “I’ll get the first flight.”
     
    “Let me know when you’ll get here. I’ll pick you up.”
     
    “Sorry, Dad.”
     
    “We’ll handle it. It will all be fine.” For the first time in my life, I don’t believe my father. But, I know if I have any chance of a life, it has to be without the Mob, without the grave I dug myself.

Chapter Nine
    Bianca
     
     
    I’m going stir crazy. A tiny two bedroom apartment one building over from Bronson and Callie, my mom a short twenty minutes away, and all of them keeping a vigilant watch over me is enough to make a sane person crazy, and I’m far from sane.
     
    “Callie, I’ll be fine. I can drive myself to Dr. Adams.”
     
    “Let me drop Angelo off at your mom’s, and I’ll go with you.”
     
    “Fuck, I don’t drive over any bridges, and I haven’t seen a building tall enough for me to leap from . . . gas is on the right, brake is on the left. I’ve got this.”
     
    “Not funny, Binks.”
     
    “I know it’s not, but y’all are killing me. I mean it. I can’t shit without someone trying to wipe my ass for me. I’ve got to venture out on my own sometime, and I think therapy is a good place to start.”
     
    “You scared me.” Her eyes pool with tears, and I start to feel like shit. I stop myself. No guilt. I’ve apologized and owned what I did. I fight the urge daily to curl up in a ball and allow life to pass me by. I persevere. Everyone in my life needs to recognize my progress and back the fuck off.
     
    “I scared myself, but Callie, I’m done apologizing. I can’t say anything to make you listen to me, to really hear what I’m saying. All I can do is prove it. I love you. I’m thankful you’ve been here for me, but I have to live. You may think you’re keeping me alive, but you’re suffocating me.”
     
    “That’s not fair, Bianca. We’re all worried.”
     
    “It’s been six months, Callie. Six long months of therapy and working through my issues. Six long months of y’all being underfoot, and I haven’t had a moment to myself. I’m not telling you I’m fine, but I think I’m over the hurdle. If it makes you feel better, confiscate my razors, and when I need to shave I’ll come clog your drain.”
     
    “Clog our drain?”
     
    “It’s winter, I only shave once a month.”
     
    “That’s nasty.”
     
    “I don’t have someone rubbing up on my legs, so it works perfectly. I’ve been thinking once a month is too much. I could probably stretch it to six or eight weeks.”
     
    “You have issues.”
     
    “I know. That’s what therapy is for, and that’s where I’m trying to fucking go, but someone is holding me hostage.”
     
    “Promise you’ll call when you get there and when you’re leaving.”
     
    “Holy shit, you want to check the mileage on my car and bank balance before I go? Am I